


lucky number 13

by project_ecto



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 12+1 things, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, acts of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28770570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/project_ecto/pseuds/project_ecto
Summary: When it comes to Iwaizumi, Oikawa can think of countless of ways to show how he loves him. It would be better if only Iwaizumi isn’t too afraid to accept it.12 times Oikawa proves his love to Iwaizumi and 1 time Iwaizumi does.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 20
Kudos: 303





	lucky number 13

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted as a fic thread series [here](https://twitter.com/project_ecto/status/1334118291615322112?s=20). inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/somosvoley_web/status/1288147091773153282?s=20).

_**—0. confession** _

“I’m in love with you.”

Oikawa stops mid-walk on the way back home to say this, the late afternoon sun painting the Sendai streets in hues of warm tangerine and sunset yellow.

There’s no practice today, but they still head home together, and there isn’t any particular reason why Oikawa would want to say this. The sky is blue. The earth is round. He is in love with Iwaizumi Hajime. What else is new?

He’s always known this. It was not learned. It was not acquired. It just came to be.

And perhaps it’s the idyllic way that time flows when you’re walking the same street for the umpteenth time, watching the same back—a little further than usual because of his musings—and understanding what your heart says but your mouth doesn’t, that pushes the words out from between his lips.

Before him, his best friend and the boy he’s just confessed his love to turns around to pin him with an inscrutable look, one of bewilderment with a flash of something akin to fear, a deep-set frown settling on his shadowed face.

Oikawa doesn’t have time to regret his actions or wait with bated breath because Iwaizumi delivers his perplexingly definite answer.

“No you’re not.”

Oikawa blinks at him in confusion. A blanket of silence settles over them as they regard each other with opposing expressions for a long moment. Iwaizumi doesn’t offer any elaboration, leaving Oikawa in a state he didn’t imagine he would find himself in after confessing.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asks. Maybe Iwa-chan heard him wrong. Should he say it again? “I said—”

“I heard what you said,” Iwaizumi cuts him off, averting his eyes. “And I’m saying you’re not.”

“I’m pretty sure I am,” Oikawa insists, nodding in confirmation. This is not how he expected his confession to go, or any confession for that matter. What kind of confession has the other guy speaking on behalf of the confessor? And why does Iwa-chan sound so sure of himself?

“Stop joking around,” Iwaizumi says firmly.

“It’s not a joke,” the setter returns. It may be impulsive, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Iwaizumi has to understand that his teasing words hold more meaning than he lets on, that his lingering touches are deliberate, that his heart no longer belongs to him alone. “I would never joke about this.”

Despite the patent sincerity in his voice, Iwaizumi doesn’t answer. It’s getting hard to look Oikawa in the eye when so much certainty exists in hazel. His hesitation is palpable and Oikawa wants to change that.

“You don’t believe me?”

Iwaizumi shifts on his feet, his previous confidence chipping away. He tugs on the strap of his bag and looks at the ground, like he’s searching for the right thing to say. But there isn’t a ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ thing to say, because loving someone is just a matter of ‘is’ or ‘is not’. Oikawa wants Iwaizumi to believe that he is.

“You’re just familiar,” Iwaizumi says instead. “We’re close, so it’s understandable that you would feel this way.”

“No,” comes Oikawa’s determined reply. Iwaizumi’s reaction is odd and Oikawa can’t put his finger on why but he’s way past assuming that what he feels for his partner is merely familiarity. Familiarity does not build a hearth in pine green eyes, does not make him ache for calloused fingers. “I don’t know why you’re trying to convince me that I’m not, but I am in love with you. And since you don’t believe me, I’ll prove it you.”

He points a finger at Iwaizumi’s chest, registering his startled expression but blazing forward anyway, “Give me 12 weeks. In 12 weeks, I’ll show you that my feelings are real.”

“12 weeks? Isn’t that a bit long?” Iwaizumi asks with a grimace.

“3 months is enough to convince someone of something right? Especially when it needs to be shown. So for each week, I’ll show you something different,” he explains with a smile, already forming ideas in his mind.

“Oikawa…” Iwaizumi sighs in quiet exasperation.

But the other boy refuses to back down. He started this, so he will see to it that he accomplishes his goal. And who knows, perhaps Iwaizumi will acknowledge how genuine Oikawa’s feelings are and accept them before the 12 weeks are up?

After all, he’s never been averse to Oikawa’s cryptic words or shied away from his display of physical affection or stopped caring about him like people who are more-than-friends but less-than-lovers do. Surely that means something too?

“I’m serious Iwa-chan. I need you to know that I’m not playing around. So give me 12 weeks okay?” Oikawa implores, russet eyes shining with anticipation. For it to really work, he adds, “And for these 12 weeks, you’re not allowed to reject me.”

“What?”

“How can I demonstrate my love if you’re going to reject me every time?” Oikawa rationalizes. He knows that if he doesn’t include this condition, Iwaizumi will try to squirm his way out of it.

“You’re making this very difficult,” Iwaizumi rubs a tired hand over his face.

“So are you!” Oikawa fires back and offers the ace a theatrically benevolent grin. “But love isn’t easy, and I’m willing to put myself through this for you Iwa-chan.”

When Oikawa’s being like this, dead serious in that deceptively flippant way of his, Iwaizumi is certain that he will simply forge ahead without heeding his words, even if they are for his own good. Other times, Iwaizumi will go head-to-head with him, equally stubborn, but this time, he will let it pass. It has to.

Eventually, Iwaizumi relents with a sigh of resignation, “Do as you like.”

He continues on his way before he can see Oikawa’s gleeful smile, a permanent fixture on his face as he catches up to Iwaizumi and falls into step beside him.

“Can I go over to your house today? We have the same history homework don’t we?” Oikawa asks like their exchange a while ago was as natural as the rising and setting of the sun. In a way it is.

“No.”

“No as in ‘no I can’t go over to your house’ or ‘no we don’t have the same history homework’?”

“No you can’t come over to my house.”

“Why not?”

Iwaizumi ponders before answering, “Mum’s making agedashi tofu and I don’t want to share with your greedy ass.”

It incites a laughter from Oikawa, who responds with a quip about how Iwaizumi is likely the greedy one.

As they amble along the sun-kissed streets of Sendai, steps in tandem but not their hearts, Oikawa couldn’t have imagined that his confession would result in this strange turn of events, but he is nothing if not persistent.

And these 12 weeks will either lead him home or to his undoing.

* * *

_**—1. gift** _

"What is this?"

"It's chocolate! And not just any chocolate, it's homemade. By me!" Oikawa announces proudly.

Iwaizumi stares at the round pieces of confectionery neatly arranged in small cupcake liners in the bento box and looks back up at Oikawa to ask flatly, "Are these poisoned?"

“I’m too pleased with how these turned out to rise to the bait today,” Oikawa says with a self-satisfied smile, lifting his nose in the air. “Try it.”

The high arch of Iwaizumi’s eyebrow prompts Oikawa to explain, “This is me proving my love to you! The 12 weeks start now!”

Ah, Iwaizumi didn’t think Oikawa would forget, but nothing happened over the last few days so he was hoping the setter changed his mind or something. But unbeknownst to him, Oikawa was busy working in his kitchen to create homemade chocolates that were filled to the brim with his heartfelt sentiments and hard work.

It took a few failed batches and a lot of wasted ingredients, but he did it eventually, and now they’re sitting on the school roof during their shared lunch break, a crimson bento box of 12 pieces of milk chocolates presented with love to Iwaizumi.

He scrunches his nose, not the response Oikawa prefers but the one he expects. People don’t give other people chocolates randomly, unless—

“It’s not even Valentine’s Day,” Iwaizumi points out.

Oikawa nods understandingly and sets the bento box down. He faces Iwaizumi and says wisely, as if he’s given this careful thought and still decided to present homemade chocolates as the first act of love.

“Yes yes, but you see, Valentine’s Day is when people give chocolates to the person they like so what better way than to use the whole idea of it to prove my love to you?”

It’s a cliché, but it sends the message clearly and simply. These chocolates say, ‘I thought of you when I thought of the day of love and I poured my heart into making these for you’.

But wariness remains in the slight press of Iwaizumi’s lips. Oikawa is inclined to jog his memory on what they had agreed.

“You’re not allowed to reject me remember?”

Of course he remembers. It’s not fathomable for him to forget the day Oikawa Tooru confesses to him. Every word that passed between them and every look that Oikawa had shown him were seared into his mind. It is everything he’s feared.

He drops his gaze to the chocolates decorated with white stripes across the top and admits that they don’t look half-bad. Iwaizumi supposes it won’t hurt to taste them.

Catching the acquiescence on his best friend’s face, Oikawa picks up the bento box excitedly and holds it out to him, a glimmer in his eyes. Iwaizumi takes one out and examines it for a bit before bringing it close to his mouth.

Russet eyes follow his movement but stop just as the confectionery reaches his lips.

“Will this give me the runs?” Iwaizumi questions. He’s not very confident about Oikawa’s prowess in the kitchen, judging from past experiences.

“No!” he exclaims, comically frustrated over Iwaizumi’s dawdling. Of course he would have ensured that it’s edible and safe before giving these to him. “I’ve tried it and I’m fine so just eat it!”

With that, Iwaizumi pops the chocolate into his mouth and lets it sit on his tongue. He sucks on it as Oikawa watches him intently, trying to gauge his reaction, but he withholds any verdict while the flavour melts in his mouth. The treat rolls on his tongue until it shrinks considerably and Iwaizumi bites into it, the sweetness coating his taste buds.

“Hazelnut,” he states in mild surprise when he sets his teeth into something crunchy.

Oikawa nods delightedly.

“Nice touch right?” he says, proud to have added Iwa-chan’s favourite kind of nut. This will surely score him some extra brownie points. “How is it?”

The gleam in Oikawa’s eyes—the same shade of chocolate as the one in his mouth he realizes—tugs on his heartstrings. This time, he tells a half-truth.

“It’s fine.”

“Just fine???”

“I’m not complaining am I?” Iwaizumi says and runs his tongue over his teeth.

Huffing, Oikawa leans back from his eager position and throws Iwaizumi a miffed glare but softens it into a contented smile.

“It’s okay,” he tells himself. “Iwa-chan is a tsundere so this is good enough.”

He’s about to be smacked in the head for calling Iwaizumi a tsundere (which would only prove his point) but before that can happen, Oikawa clicks the lid of the bento box close and pushes it towards Iwaizumi, lifting his gaze to him.

“These are for you, so accept it okay?”

The older boy regards the box carefully, like it holds more than chocolates, and answers after a pause, “Okay.”

He has to look away when Oikawa smiles, bright and genuine and rivalling the sun.

The bento box sits in his hands as they return to their own classes. Iwaizumi hides it under his desk and steals a few during his lessons. When he’s home at the end of the day, he sets it on the table in his room and pops a few more while finishing his homework. And it’s not his usual habit, but as he rests against the headboard, he cleans off the rest before getting ready for bed.

They’re sweet, like the person who made them. It follows him into his dreams.

* * *

_**—2. companionship** _

“You know you don’t have to be here right?” Iwaizumi directs the question at the only other person in his classroom on this uneventful afternoon.

He’s on cleaning duty this week and despite being in different classes, Oikawa had proclaimed that he will be accompanying Iwaizumi, completely unsolicited and unnecessary in his opinion. The chores can be finished much quickly if he were by himself. Oikawa’s presence will only be a distraction.

Unfortunately, the setter seems adamant in his offer. Waving a hand dismissively at Iwaizumi and dropping his bag on the shelves lining the back of the classroom, Oikawa replies, “But I insist!”

If he were that insistent, he should have arrived earlier to help stack the chairs onto the desks. That’s the most troublesome part, Iwaizumi thinks. He also supposes that this has something to do with the 12-weeks-of-proving-my-love-to-you mission that Oikawa is serious about following through. The thought of how Oikawa being here is an act of love crosses his mind and it’s as if he has read it.

“When you like someone, you’ll want to accompany them even when they’re doing something mundane or something you might not enjoy right?” Oikawa explains, moving to the metal cabinet where the cleaning supplies are kept. He takes a broom and a spare, crossing the room to hand one to Iwaizumi, who accepts it wordlessly.

Oikawa continues, “You know Kazuhiko-kun from my class? He attended a rock concert with Minami-san and we all know how much he dislikes loud music. But that’s what you do I guess. When you like someone.”

Iwaizumi slides his eyes away, heat creeping up his neck. When Oikawa first confessed, he hadn’t seen his face. When he gifted him the bento box of chocolates, he didn’t sound like this—quietly sure and stripped of flair. It’s…too honest. It makes Iwaizumi feel like a contradiction, when he’s demanded Oikawa to drop his pretences but shrinks away when he does.

“You don’t have to help me clean,” Iwaizumi tells him, steering the conversation to something less precarious. If Oikawa wants to keep him company, he can, but he’s not obligated to share half the load with him.

What Iwaizumi doesn’t understand is that love is not an obligation, but a choice. And this week, Oikawa chooses to stay.

“It’s faster if there are two sets of hands,” Oikawa states, but before Iwaizumi can concede that he’s being rather magnanimous, he adds with a cheeky smile, “And I’m only helping you out today. Tomorrow, I might just sit in a corner and do my homework while waiting for you.”

“The hell?” Iwaizumi scowls. “If you’re not going to help, then go home.”

“Aww but Iwa-chan, I can give you moral support.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

Who the hell needs moral support for cleaning duty?

Needed or not, Iwaizumi doesn’t protest when Oikawa turns up at his classroom again the next day. He doesn’t lend a helping hand but settles himself into a seat at the window and takes out his homework.

Seconds turn into minutes as they complete their own assignments in companionable silence. There is the occasional running footsteps along the hallway, the recurring swish of the broom and the intermittent pauses between Oikawa’s scribbling.

Iwaizumi works his way through the rows of desks and chairs, reaching the last one near the teacher’s table and straightens his back for a well-earned stretch. He glances at Oikawa, seated right in his line of sight, his head lowered and mouth in a pout as he frets over a problem, the way it tends to when he encounters something particularly difficult.

His hair is getting long, Iwaizumi muses, he should get it cut before the teachers give him a warning. And his curls are cooperating today. It’s not something he notices on a daily basis since he already knows that Oikawa is an attractive guy, but his mind supplies the thought before he can stop it.

With uncanny timing, Oikawa looks up and meets Iwaizumi’s gaze. It catches him off guard and sparks a guilty reaction in him, unwarranted as it is.

“Done?” the setter asks, head angled to the side. His eyes are round, innocent, an uncaptured loveliness fitting for a blithe afternoon. Have they always been this brown? It must be the light.

“In a minute,” Iwaizumi manages, wishing the words were louder than a murmur.

The same thing happens again. Oikawa visits class 3-5 after school and decides to chip in with the cleaning, though Iwaizumi would argue that he holds a different notion of cleaning than normal people. As he erases the last lesson’s writings from the blackboard, he hears the unmistakable sound of chalk against board at the same time.

Snapping his head towards the culprit, Iwaizumi witnesses Oikawa sketching what seems to be a crude drawing of him, face filled with childish delight even when he meets Iwaizumi’s glower. For good measure, he colours in doodle-Iwaizumi’s eyebrows to make them extra bushy.

“Shittykawa!” Iwaizumi shouts, marching over to him. “Stop doodling on the blackboard when I’m trying to clean!”

Oikawa yelps and laughs, but does not shirk away from Iwaizumi and his brandished duster. A mini battle ensues, where Oikawa fends off a tenacious Iwaizumi while attempting to add an overly tiny body to the drawing. Iwaizumi succeeds in erasing half his head, their shoulders pushed against each other’s as they fight for space.

When they find themselves in a stalemate, neither budging, Iwaizumi snatches a free duster, spins around and claps them together, sending a cloud of chalk at Oikawa’s face. It stuns him, creating the perfect chance for Iwaizumi to erase the doodle and confiscate the chalk but he doesn’t, transfixed on the white spot that settles on Oikawa’s nose.

To make matters worse, Oikawa wrinkles his nose adorably and Iwaizumi immediately turns towards the blackboard, refusing the sight. All of a sudden, Oikawa sneezes—without covering his mouth and right into Iwaizumi’s uniform sleeve.

He’s grateful only because it hauls him back to reality. Iwaizumi makes a disgusted sound and they start bickering again—safe behind the lines.

The next day, Oikawa miraculously gets his tie stuck in one of the windows and they spend much too long freeing him until they’re almost late for practice.

But on the last day of the school week, it’s quiet. Oikawa fixes himself at the far corner again, poring over his English homework today as Iwaizumi busies himself. He stumbles upon one tricky question after another so his mind side-tracks and his fingers fiddle with his pencil, rolling it against the desk.

It slips to the end of the table and Oikawa catches it in time but also spots a little drawing carved into the corner. It’s a picture of an umbrella with a heart on its tip.

Ai-ai gasa, Oikawa says in his mind—a symbol of love. It looks like someone used the edge of a ruler to etch this inedible picture into the wood. Oikawa runs a finger over the marking. He hasn’t noticed it until now.

“Hey Iwa-chan. Do you know a ‘Satou’ or a ‘Kawada’ in your class?”

Iwaizumi looks up quizzically. “No. Why?”

“One of them must have drawn an ai-ai gasa on this desk. See?” Oikawa points and Iwaizumi is curious enough to go over.

He peers at the corner of the desk and reads the kanji sitting below the triangular shape. He hums and concludes, “Must be a senior batch.”

“That’s a pity,” Oikawa comments vaguely. “We’ll never know if they’re still together then.”

Iwaizumi snorts, uninterested.

“I’m almost done,” he says, moving away. “Let’s go soon.”

“M’kay.”

Oikawa spares the ai-ai gasa one final look, wondering if he should have carved his own into something more permanent, instead of within the margins of his innocent notebook.

* * *

_**—3. trust** _

“Iwa-chan, there you are,” Oikawa calls the moment he swings open the door to reveal Iwaizumi busying over their club’s banner on the clubroom floor. “You’re early.”

“So are you,” Iwaizumi comments offhandedly, glancing up briefly at the new presence before returning to his task.

“Are you touching up on our banner?” comes Oikawa’s rhetorical question, since it’s evident that Iwaizumi’s doing just that, a paintbrush in his hand and his body bent over the teal cloth.

“Yeah,” he replies nonetheless, preoccupied with trying not to paint the white outside the line. “What are you doing here so early anyway?”

“I was looking for you,” Oikawa answers and drops his bag in front of his locker.

It makes Iwaizumi lift his head, an eyebrow quirked curiously and paintbrush hovering over the kanji of their banner.

“What for?”

Oikawa folds his legs underneath himself to sit cross-legged across Iwaizumi so that they’re eye-to-eye, his back leaning against the cool metal of the locker. By some remarkable coincidence, they share the same day when their classes end the earliest out of the week, and Oikawa intended to take the opportunity to demonstrate his next act of love.

It needs to be private, so he’s glad he found Iwaizumi alone in the clubroom. It wasn’t hard to find him, he’s always either here or there, and here or there is wherever Oikawa needs him to be.

“I thought of the next way to prove my love to you,” he tells him simply and Iwaizumi had not expected him to drop this on a seemingly uneventful afternoon nor did he expect his heart to stutter in his chest. Oikawa is not going to let up, is he?

They let their gazes linger, Iwaizumi on alert and Oikawa nonchalant—unnervingly so. Seeing that Oikawa isn’t saying anything more, that bloody tease, Iwaizumi rolls his eyes away and resumes his touching-up.

But the setter takes his ace’s disinterest in stride, observes for a moment how he curves the brush over the lines of their club’s motto, coating the spots of dirt and grime that accumulated over the years with a fresh layer of white.

For someone as brusque as he is, Iwaizumi is careful in this exercise, hands steady and mind focused. The tongue that peeks out from between his lips steals Oikawa’s attention for a bit.

Out of the blue, Oikawa begins, “It was me who ate your share of the karaage last week, not Mattsun.”

Iwaizumi looks up at him, baffled at the sudden disclosure, but Oikawa continues.

“I use my sister’s shampoo because it’s better for my hair than those generic off-the-shelf ones.”

“I faked being sick when we were 8 so I wouldn’t have to visit Yamagata with my parents and could stay with you.”

“I don’t actually think you have a gorilla face.”

“Sometimes I push myself on purpose because I know you’re looking out for me anyway.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be the best, but in truth, I think I’m just afraid of failing.”

That’s all the secrets he will say aloud for now and Oikawa doesn’t wait for Iwaizumi to demand an explanation to offer softly, “I like you enough to trust you with my secrets.”

Iwaizumi’s lips part in realization and it’s Oikawa’s turn to feel unnerved under his watchful eyes. He wishes he would say something; the longer the silence, the more awkward it gets.

This isn’t the first time he’s bared himself to Iwaizumi, he’s shown him the regretful parts and the ugly sides in his most vulnerable moments and these secrets don’t exactly come close, but when the admission of love exists as shared knowledge, the hope that Iwaizumi won’t run away from the stripped-down version of him breaches his heart most desperately.

After what seems like a torturously long second where Oikawa is pinned under Iwaizumi’s unreadable expression, the older boy leans over the banner again with a low exhale, dipping the brush into a bottle of white paint and says, “I already know all that.”

Earthy green eyes flicker up to meet Oikawa’s as he adds tonelessly, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

It’s not meant to be an invitation and Oikawa doesn’t take it as such. He stays behind the line he’s drawn today, like how Iwaizumi paints behind the demarcation between teal and white.

And these are the ones that echo in his heart and never leave its chambers.

_‘I’ve seen so many versions of you—gruff and gentle, unwavering and uncertain—but unless you love me back, I’ll never see them all. So won’t you love me back?’_

_‘I never felt a jealousy so ugly when you were confessed to in our second year.’_

_‘And then I never felt a relief so calming when you turned her down.’_

_‘I have dreams about you. Some are disgustingly domestic. Some are wild. Some are shameful. Most I want to challenge with reality.’_

_‘I have never felt anything for anyone as much as I feel for you. It scares me. It settles me.’_

Oikawa laughs lightly instead and scoots forward to plant himself on the other side of the banner to say, “Let me help. Pass me a brush.”

Maybe soon, he’ll get to the point where he can spill these secrets to Iwaizumi and if fate allows, Iwaizumi will share his deepest secrets with him too. For now, the matter is left as it is, somewhat of an almost-there, as Iwaizumi hands a spare brush to Oikawa and moves to work on the smaller characters of their school name at the corner of the fabric.

They fill the time with idle chatter, like what had transpired is nothing out of the ordinary. (Iwaizumi thinks that if he doesn’t encourage Oikawa, he might give up on his conquest.)

“Iwa-chan, you missed so many spots,” Oikawa complains, smoothening the cloth with his fingers so he doesn’t accidentally paint outside the word.

“I wasn’t done,” he points out.

“Good thing I’m here to—ah shit. I got paint on my fingers,” Oikawa frowns while Iwaizumi instinctively looks around for the rag that was here a minute ago. He finds it peeking out from underneath the other corner of the banner and offers it to Oikawa just as the setter extends his arm to wipe his index finger on the tip of Iwaizumi’s nose—a reckless but not regretted decision.

“What the hell was that for Shittykawa?!” Iwaizumi exclaims, jerking backwards.

Revenge for last week perhaps. Just because, more like.

Oikawa breaks out into a laugh as Iwaizumi vigorously attempts to rub the paint off his nose before it can dry. Without a mirror, the hapless victim can only scrub at his nose with the back of his hand, which smears the wet paint and also leaves a little red patch on his nose. Oikawa thinks it adorably amusing and the scowl on Iwaizumi’s face simply serves to tickle him more.

“Oh Iwa-chan, don’t bother,” he manages through his laughter. “You’re only making it worse.”

Iwaizumi throws him a dirty look and grumbles as he hunts for a clean cloth, “Aren’t you loving this a bit too much?”

Laughter subsiding into an endeared smile, Oikawa watches his best friend searching around, nose sporting a delightful mix of red and white and says to himself that no—he thinks he can’t love it enough.

* * *

_**—4. try** _

“Why’d you call me over?” Iwaizumi says in lieu of a greeting when Oikawa lets him into the house.

“My parents are out and I didn’t want to eat alone,” he reasons and it’s half of the truth.

The other half sits beneath an egg-patterned food cover, still warm and waiting to be tasted.

“You hungry?” Oikawa asks. “Mum made fried rice before leaving.”

Iwaizumi makes a non-committal grunt and follows him into the kitchen. Like clockwork, he takes out the bowls and cutleries, rinses and dries them before passing them to Oikawa, who piles a generous helping of fried rice into each bowl.

This is normal, this is what best friends do. But even as Iwaizumi tells himself that, he has a hunch Oikawa has some ulterior motive when he asked him over. Going over to each other’s places to eat or study or simply hang out is a common occurrence for them, but with the whole…‘proving my love’ quest that Oikawa’s got going on, Iwaizumi finds himself pondering on what he has up his sleeve next.

It’s the third week and it seems Oikawa is adamant on demonstrating a particular act of love in each week. Iwaizumi is not too fond of the unpredictability. Oikawa can catch him at the most inopportune moments and he does not want to give himself away. Sometimes, there are too many things to hide and nowhere to hide them.

Oikawa is on the other side of the fence on this and Iwaizumi thinks it’s a dangerous place to be.

He moves to fuss with something at the counter so Iwaizumi takes the bowls to the dining table. The setter joins him soon after, carrying a shallow bowl covered with a plate and holding back a grin, and Iwaizumi instantly sits up taller.

“For today’s dinner, we have fried rice and…” Oikawa’s voice trails off dramatically and he makes a show out of setting the dish in front of Iwaizumi and lifting the plate to reveal, “your favourite!”

True enough, five pieces of agedashi tofu sit in a pool of tsuyu sauce, pale beige cubes garnished with daikon and spring onions. It actually looks…promising. The surprise of having his favourite food cooked for him puts careless interest on his face.

The chocolates were a different matter. That was just some idea that people who think they’re in love subscribe to. But trying your hand to make something you know the other person will appreciate—somehow that felt more intimate.

“I know I’m not good at cooking, but I wanted to make something you like,” Oikawa explains, pulling up a chair across Iwaizumi. And that’s even worse, because it meant he willingly went ahead with it despite the difficulty and the odds of failure. “Try it.”

Iwaizumi knows he has to since he’s bound by the no-rejection rule, so he picks up the spoon and scoops a piece. It wobbles slightly on the metal and he sticks it into his mouth swiftly, no dilly-dallying today.

The lack of hesitation excites Oikawa, who takes it to mean favourably. Too keen for an opinion, he presses, “So? What do you think?”

Iwaizumi takes a while to reply. He breaks the tofu cube into little pieces, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, and lets the savoury tsuyu sauce spread over his tongue. It’s not as delectable as the one his mother makes, the texture is a bit off, but he’ll admit it’s a commendable attempt.

The pause he takes is enough to send Oikawa fretting. Shoulders slouching, he wears a sheepish look and rambles, “Ahh as I thought, it’s no good right? It must be too bland. I knew I should have added the—”

“It’s good.”

Oikawa’s not the only one who’s caught off guard by the sudden honesty. Iwaizumi asks himself why he allowed that to slip out so easily but he supposes Oikawa deserves this much for all the trying that he did.

“Really?”

Iwaizumi chooses his next words carefully.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s edible.”

“You already said it’s good. So no take-backs!” Oikawa retorts, his disappointment completely gone. What an easy guy to please.

It’s only natural, given the number of times he attempted the dish, tasted it himself and deemed it too soft or too dry or too bland, before he finally found it acceptable. Oikawa thinks he’s eaten enough agedashi tofu for the next month but that’s not something Iwa-chan needs to know.

“I get that you do fine in the kitchen,” Iwaizumi says, noting Oikawa’s recent two successes, and glances at his friend cautiously. “But you’re not going to keep feeding me are you?”

“Don’t be rude!” Oikawa scolds light-heartedly, pulling his bowl of fried rice towards himself and digging in. “But no. I’ll think of other ideas for the rest of the weeks. Look forward to it Iwa-chan!”

He makes a sound of acknowledgement and puts another piece of tofu into his mouth. Then, merely out of curiosity, he asks, “How long did it take for you to get this right?”

“Enough that I won’t be considered a culinary disaster,” Oikawa answers with an evasive smile but it’s telling that he’s avoiding the embarrassment the truth might bring.

Iwaizumi falters.

You don’t do your best for people you don’t love.

* * *

_**—5. declaration** _

“Wait here and don’t move!” Oikawa whispers fiercely, gripping Iwaizumi by the shoulders and pressing him into the wall at the back of their school building.

“Oikawa, what are you—”

“Shhh!!” he cuts him off. “There’s something I want you to hear.”

“What?” Iwaizumi asks impatiently. Right after class, Oikawa had ambushed him and dragged him out into the hallways, leading him outside the school block without explaining what the hell he was doing.

Iwaizumi could only be pulled along with Oikawa’s clutch around his wrist and soon finds himself being shushed by his friend in the quiet outdoors with no clue what Oikawa has gotten them into.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything,” Oikawa reassures but it doesn’t make Iwaizumi any less wary. The setter peeks out from the corner, eyebrows raising like he notices something and faces Iwaizumi to say hastily, “Just stay here and listen okay?”

It’s not like he has a choice when Oikawa strides out from where they’re hidden right after and Iwaizumi catches for a brief moment the mild-mannered smile he reserves for obligatory duties. Exhaling through his nose, he complies and leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he waits for…whatever Oikawa wants him to wait for.

Almost immediately, he hears a girl’s voice, distant and meek, and his shoulders go tense.

“Oikawa-senpai.”

“Hi!” Oikawa’s deceptively pleasant voice floats to Iwaizumi’s ears. “Endo-san?”

“Yes, I’m Endo Chise,” the girl greets politely and Iwaizumi can imagine a bow. “Thank you for meeting me here.”

“Of course, you’ve written such a sincere letter after all.”

Letter? So Oikawa received a confession letter today? And this is the meet-up? Why the hell would he want Iwaizumi to witness this? What exactly is he plotting?

“They’re my heartfelt feelings. I hope you’ll be able to accept them,” she says earnestly.

Iwaizumi doesn’t even have time to hold his breath in anticipation because Oikawa says without missing a beat, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

The straightforward way he delivers his response startles both intended recipients. There’s an awkward pause before the girls finds her voice to ask nervously, “Why? If it’s about your volleyball club activities, I don’t mind. I’m in the kendou club myself so I understand that you’ll spend a lot of time with it.”

“It’s not that.”

“Oh…then why?”

“I like someone else.”

Iwaizumi jolts. Oikawa is venturing into dangerous territory, but if he thinks about it, the biggest risk was already taken when he said that he’s in love with Iwaizumi. He’s trying to lead him out of danger, but Oikawa, stubborn as he is, looks it in the eye and marches towards it.

The girl is unable to reply, astonished by the revelation. Because if Oikawa Tooru likes someone, surely they’d be together? But it doesn’t seem like he’s dating anyone.

Oikawa interrupts the silence to continue—he hopes Iwa-chan is listening—“I’ve known them for a while now and they’re really mean but in a caring way, you know? I think they already know this, but I feel safe and grounded when I’m with them. They understand me, more than I understand myself sometimes.”

Around the corner, Iwaizumi stills. He knows those words are meant for his ears, not hers. And Oikawa is right, he already knows this. Perhaps he brought this upon himself then. Perhaps he should not have had such a tender heart for him, then he wouldn’t find himself in this mess.

What a laughable idea.

“Oh,” she speaks again and Iwaizumi listens raptly. “She sounds like an amazing person.”

“They are,” Oikawa confirms with a smile that Iwaizumi cannot see, and then more softly, “I really like them.”

“If—If you give me a chance,” she suggests unsurely. “I could—”

But Oikawa stops her there, not unkindly, “Oh, I don’t think anyone can be like them.”

Iwaizumi’s heart lurches in his ribcage. Why does it feel uncontrollably worse to hear Oikawa say he loves him without saying he loves him?

There’s nothing for a moment, only a gust of wind that sends a few stray leaves fluttering from the rustling trees. And then—

“Is that person in this school?”

The question, more damaging than she realizes, makes Iwaizumi stiffen. On the adjacent side of the wall, Oikawa considers it thoughtfully and grants her the knowledge.

“Yes.”

“Who is it, may I ask?”

Iwaizumi curses under his breath. Oikawa, that idiot. He better not say it.

He should know that confessing this to another person would do more harm than good. This is not something that they will hear and wish him well for. Instead, they will look at him with wide eyes full of shock, mutter words of pity under their breaths and shake their heads at him for giving up a bright future.

The silence that lapses is too long. Iwaizumi knows Oikawa is contemplating it and decides he does not want to risk it.

He steels himself and turns around the corner, walking into view and interrupting their exchange. The girl sees him first.

“Oikawa,” he calls out, almost like a warning, and pretends he hadn’t intended to barge in. “Sorry, didn’t know you were busy. Coach wants to see us.”

“Ah, okay,” he replies, surprised to see him come out of hiding but it dawns on him why. He’s worried. Iwaizumi doesn’t seem like he’s leaving, probably to make sure Oikawa doesn’t run his mouth anymore, so he smiles apologetically at the girl and departs with some final words, “Sorry, I have to go. But thank you. I hope you find someone who’ll be able to return your feelings.”

Once he goes with Iwaizumi and they are left to themselves in the school corridors, heading not to the teachers’ room because Oikawa knows that the coach does not need to see them, he notices his friend’s brooding expression and asks, “Were you afraid I’d tell her?”

Iwaizumi does not offer anything else but a sober, “Don’t do stupid things.”

But Oikawa would beg to differ. He would declare his love to the rest of the world, the same way he did to Iwaizumi, unbidden and unafraid.

* * *

_**—6. submission** _

“Where’s Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks when he realizes that their captain is nowhere to be found in the locker room after coach has released all of them. 

Matsukawa doesn’t look at him as he says, “Still in the gym.”

Iwaizumi releases an exasperated sigh. They were let off later than usual today and practice had been more punishing so he’s not too pleased to hear that Oikawa stayed behind to squeeze in extra serves.

“I’ll get him,” he mumbles, swiping his windbreaker and pulling the sleeves over his arms as he marches through the door.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki share a knowing glance, arching a mirrored eyebrow, but wordlessly leave their captain and his vice to it.

The distinct slam of a volleyball against the court reaches Iwaizumi’s ears before he steps foot into the gym. A familiar sight greets him, it is of Oikawa tossing a ball until it becomes a blur against the stands and running up to it, lifting off his feet, his form beautiful mid-air as a seasoned palm sends the ball flying into the edge of the white lines.

The shape of him, back arched and arms drawn, is more arresting on him than anyone else but Iwaizumi might be biased. As much as he loves to admire it, he would also like for Oikawa not to push himself against his limits unheedingly so that he can continue dazzling people with that impeccable form of his.

“Oikawa,” he calls the moment his shoes touch the ground. The setter snaps his head towards him, broken out of the reflective gaze he fixed at the spot he aimed for. “That’s enough for today. Pack up.”

He’d prefer if he doesn’t have the added responsibility of dragging Oikawa out of his extra practice but it’s not something he can escape from when it’s Oikawa, who is as headstrong as they come. And if not him, who else? Iwaizumi might grouse about it but he will rather eat a brick than relinquish this role to anyone else. He’s ready to physically haul Oikawa out of the gym if it comes down to it but remarkably, he’s met with an—

“Okay.”

Iwaizumi blinks in disbelief.

“Wait, did you just say okay?”

“Yes,” Oikawa confirms as he starts to pick up the volleyballs littering the court, amused at Iwaizumi’s apparent incredulity. Is it so rare for him to listen to what Iwa-chan says? Standing up fully, he regards Iwaizumi with a cool smile, “But help me clean up won’t you?”

The other boy freezes for a second more before releasing a hesitant, “Sure,” and joins Oikawa, who’s going about cleaning up with zero protest or wheedling for five more minutes. Curiosity getting the better of him, Iwaizumi asks apprehensively, “Why are you so…(he searches for a better word than ‘obedient’)…compliant?”

Oikawa pins him with a questioning look, dropping two volleyballs into the cart.

“You get upset when I don’t listen to you. But now when I do listen to you, you’re looking at me like I’m a criminal. You’re a tough crowd huh.”

“Normally, you’d put up a fight for at least another five minutes,” Iwaizumi counters, sinking a Mikasa volleyball into another cart with an underhand toss. “Today, you just ‘okay’-ed me. What are you up to?”

“I’m not up to anything Iwa-chan,” Oikawa claims. “If you think it’s time for me to stop, then I’ll stop.”

But Iwaizumi doesn’t believe it’s as simple as that.

“Does this have anything to do with the whole 12 weeks of love thing?” he demands, averting his eyes when he says that out loud.

“Smart.”

“Explain.”

“When you like someone,” Oikawa starts. “You respect their words and listen to what they say, especially when you know they have your best interests at heart.”

He pushes the cart towards another stray volleyball, the wheels squeaking against the hardwood floor and carries on, “It’s called submission, Iwa-chan.”

Quite instantly after he says it, Oikawa’s eyes widen in realization at what else the word could mean. He fumbles with an attempt to clarify, “I mean—to accept what the other person says and…yeah. Not the…you know, other thing.”

He stops there, lest he exacerbates the situation, fighting off the awkwardness by jogging to the last volleyball on the court, which Iwaizumi is glad for because the idea has sent heat creeping up his collar.

“Yeah,” he responds lamely and forces himself not to digress. “So is this going to be a one-time thing? It’s bullshit if it is.”

“Oh Iwa-chan,” Oikawa trills, supposedly back to his usual self and going a little off-tangent. “Liking you is a one-time thing, but it’s also an infinite thing.”

Iwaizumi is suddenly overcome with the urge to hurl the volleyball in his hands at Oikawa’s head. Instead, he’s riveted to the spot, cursing Oikawa for uttering something so disarming in that matter-of-fact way of his.

“That’s…not what I meant,” he grits out. “I was talking about the listening-to-me thing.”

“Oh! Well obviously I can’t do that _all_ the time, but I’ve decided that for this whole week, I’m going to listen to whatever you say!” Oikawa announces, flashing him a satisfied grin. “This is a rare opportunity so use it well.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry, are you saying you don’t want this rare chance of ordering me around?” Oikawa taunts. “I’m more than—”

“Anything?” Iwaizumi cuts him off, eyes turning devious.

It makes Oikawa think twice but not enough to retract his statement. As a safeguard, he adds, “No unreasonable requests! That’s an abuse of power.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi agrees. “Let me choose all the movies to watch this week.”

An easy request but Oikawa knows he’s going to rewatch the same few Godzilla movies which is such a waste because there are a ton of other great movies they’re not watching. Regardless, he’s a man of his word so he replies, “Fine. Doesn’t mean I won’t complain though.”

“Then I don’t want you to complain.”

Oikawa purses his lips, admitting he walked right into that one. This week’s going to be tough but he tells himself that firstly, people undergo hardships for their loved ones all the time (although this hardly counts as a hardship) and secondly, he’d do a lot more for much less if Iwaizumi asked it of him.

“Fine.”

* * *

_**—7. comfort** _

Iwaizumi is pissed.

Rather, he’s disappointed. Infuriatingly so.

The cause of his bad mood is a failing grade on his Biology test, which he had studied hard for. He sat for it exuding with confidence and filled in the multiple choice test with proud certainty…only to discover that he had skipped a question and threw off the rest of his answers when he got his results back. The sympathy on his teacher’s face was nothing compared to his devastating horror.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t the very test he wanted to pass with flying colours. Biology is one of his strongest subjects and one that he desperately wants to maintain a good record of. But no, the universe had to conspire against him and slap him with an ugly failing grade, as if mocking his hard work.

The fact that he only has his carelessness to blame is the most frustrating part of all.

This setback bothered him all throughout practice and the way home and even now in his room, it simmers persistently under his heavy expression.

Deciding to cool off with a shower, Iwaizumi snatches some clothes from his wardrobe and yanks open the door.

He doesn’t expect to hear the familiar voice of his best friend greeting his mother and the subsequent sight of him bounding up the stairs, a plastic bag in hand.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa chirps, a stark contrast to Iwaizumi’s troubled disposition that’s easing into surprise.

“What are you doing here?” he asks and automatically lets Oikawa into his room. They hadn’t agreed to go over to the other’s place today. In any case, it’s not unwelcome.

“I thought I’d come and cheer you up,” Oikawa tells him, making himself comfortable on Iwaizumi’s beanbag which practically belongs to him with how often he sinks his weight into it.

“For what?”

“You’re upset about your bio test right?” he asks back. He overheard Iwaizumi grumbling about it to Yuda before practice and noticed that his spikes were harder today, like he’s venting, and he had been quietly seething during the walk home. Oikawa figured out the full picture in no time and it gave him an idea of what he could do for his next act of love. Digging his hand into the plastic bag, he adds, “So I’m here to cheer you up with...ice popsicles and…the newest Shounen Jump volume! You haven’t read it yet right?”

“No…” Iwaizumi answers, eyes darting from the coloured treats in one hand to the magazine in the other. Oikawa thinks these would lift his mood and that itself…makes him feel strangely warm.

“Great, I’ll even let you read it first.”

That’s all good and well but Oikawa abruptly appearing in his house and presenting these humble offerings to him suddenly highlights how exhausting it is to be fretting all day. Oikawa’s presence feels like a restart button he didn’t know he needed.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi lets out, starting over.

“Yeah?”

“I was going to take a shower.”

“Oh. Well go ahead. I’ll still be here.”

Iwaizumi takes a quick one, hair barely dry and dripping from the ends onto the towel around his neck when he returns, Oikawa lounging on his beanbag and engrossed in the Jump magazine. Brown eyes flicker up to him, directly followed by a, “You shouldn’t leave your hair all wet like that. It’s damaging.”

“Have you been reading your sister’s magazines again?”

“When you get damaged hair before you’re 30 I will say I told you so,” Oikawa scoffs. He puts away the Jump and says, “Come here.”

“…No.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes and scoots forward on the beanbag. “Just come over here and sit down.”

Not really up to argue, Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and does as he’s told, setting himself into a cross-legged position in front of Oikawa who instructs him to face forward. The towel around his neck is pulled away and draped gracelessly over his head, obscuring his vision.

That—he’s about to protest against but two hands come up to settle over his scalp, one holding his head in place and the other scuffing the towel over his wet hair.

Oikawa’s drying his hair for him. It’s oddly domestic. Iwaizumi does not know what to make of it.

Luckily for him, Oikawa doesn’t let the silence stretch. “Are you still upset?”

The friction against his scalp is a bit distracting, but Iwaizumi manages to say, “Not really. A little.”

He tries not to focus too much on how soothing Oikawa’s hands feel, rummaging through the bag to pull out an ice popsicle which has already melted. He twists the top off with his teeth and sticks it into his mouth.

“It was very careless of you, but at least now you know you won’t make the same mistake again,” Oikawa surmises, flipping the towel to find a drier patch and resuming his ministration on Iwaizumi’s hair. “And it won’t even matter in the grand scheme of things. 10 years down the road, I don’t think you’ll remember that you botched your bio test in high school.”

On the contrary, Iwaizumi thinks he will, but only because he associates it with the touch of Oikawa’s palms against his swimming head, dulled by fabric.

“I guess,” he mumbles with the popsicle hanging from between his lips.

The silence that follows is comfortable. Iwaizumi reaches for the Jump magazine and flips through it, although he doesn’t really register the words when the pressure of Oikawa’s fingers takes up more space in his mind.

It doesn’t take long for his hair to dry but Oikawa keeps it up, pressing deft digits into his temple and kneading the base of Iwaizumi’s skull with his thumbs. Head slightly bowed, Iwaizumi enjoys the treatment wordlessly and before he knows it, the lingering frustrations have ebbed away into some elusive point in the past.

Oikawa’s skilful fingers set—serve—and as it turns out, offers a special kind of solace.

Iwaizumi almost sighs when the pressure lets up and the towel slips from his head.

“Feel better?” Oikawa asks and from the tone of his voice, already knows the answer.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi mutters. “Thanks.”

He wills himself to face Oikawa who sports a gratified expression, fully aware of having a job well done. Iwaizumi’s gut feeling says that the unbearably affectionate gesture is part of Oikawa’s 12-week mission but he wants to know exactly how. He pins him with a questioning gaze, a telepathic demand for an explanation.

“Comfort, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa tells him, lips tugging into a smile. “You’re not the only one who can do it.”

* * *

_**—8. risk** _

Iwaizumi’s not that interested in basketball, but he’s good at it so naturally, he’s selected to be part of class 3-5’s team in a friendly match against 3-1, Matsukawa’s class, during PE.

By the second quarter, Iwaizumi’s team is leading by 5 points and he nimbly dribbles past an opposing player to score another point with a layup, bringing their lead to 7. Spectators from his class erupt into a cheer, combatted by 3-1’s ‘don’t mind’s.

Iwaizumi high-5s his point guard and glances over the court to make eye contact with Matsukawa, who’s playing centre. He gives him a smug smirk and Matsukawa merely waggles his eyebrows back at him. Although Iwaizumi is clearly not the tallest player, his versatility makes for a relatively skilled small forward.

The game resumes and Iwaizumi lets himself be swept away by the speed and adrenaline of it. He’s trying to steal the ball from the opposing team’s power forward until he’s rudely distracted by an unmistakably annoying voice from the side-lines.

“Iwa-chan!! Don’t call yourself my vice-captain if you don’t beat Mattsun!!” comes Oikawa’s hollering and Iwaizumi’s so alarmed to hear him that the other player evades him easily to land two points.

Firstly, he’s mad that Oikawa just cost him two points and still has the gall to stand there, the only one in his full uniform amongst his classmates, grinning cheekily. More importantly, isn’t he supposed to be in his own class now?!

The students around him regard him weirdly but none of them comment on his unexpected presence. Iwaizumi has no choice but to return to the game, though not before shooting Oikawa a glare that conveys one word of warning, ‘later’.

Later comes after 3-5 beats 3-1 with an 8-point lead and Iwaizumi drags Oikawa to the back of the gym to question him.

“What the hell are you doing here? Don’t you have class?”

It’s the last class of the day and it’s actually Math period but Oikawa confesses while throwing up a peace sign, “I told sensei that I’m not feeling well and needed to visit the infirmary.”

“What for?”

“To support you of course!” Oikawa says, not at all guilty for lying to his teacher and skipping class so that he can watch him play an insignificant friendly. Iwaizumi is tempted to smack the grin off his dumb face.

This so-called support is absolutely unnecessary Iwaizumi thinks, not to mention dangerous. It’s not like he’s playing an actual match (which is funny because if he were, Oikawa would be by his side) and if someone catches him skipping class, he could be in hot soup. _And_ if it affected their club activities, Iwaizumi would be livid.

“Are you crazy?!” he scolds.

Oikawa tilts his head, considering it, and surmises, “Well, people do crazy things when they’re in love right?”

Iwaizumi makes a strangled sound at the back of his throat and shakes his head incredulously, somewhat defeated by Oikawa’s ironic level-headedness, “You’re out of your mind. What if you get caught?”

“Relax Iwa-chan,” he waves it off. “It’s almost the end of the period and I’m not in trouble am I? Besides, we had a relief teacher today. They’re probably just revising so I’m not missing much.”

Still. While he’s comforted by the fact that Oikawa isn’t that dumb, he wishes he wouldn’t take pointless risks like this. So what if it’s an act of love? Iwaizumi doesn’t want it if it harms him in any way.

Fuck, he’s overthinking this. A headache is imminent.

“Whatever, just go back to class,” he orders.

“Wha—come on Iwa-chan, class is almost done,” Oikawa protests. “Let me stay here until the end of the day, then we can go for practice together.”

“No.”

“Ugh, Iwa-chan’s such a goody two-shoes,” he sulks and then adds airily, “But fine, only because I like you okay?”

The headache is pounding against his skull.

“Keep your voice down,” Iwaizumi says fiercely, checking to see if anyone’s in the vicinity but they’re clear.

“Don’t get all flustered,” Oikawa lilts, resisting an urge to smoothen the crease in his partner’s eyebrows.

“Hurry up and get back to class.”

“Okay okay,” he yields. “I’ll see you at practice. Good game by the way. Too bad the basketball team couldn’t get their hands on you!”

Iwaizumi watches Oikawa jog away until he disappears inside the school building and vaguely wonders what kind of risks he will take for Oikawa Tooru.

* * *

_**—8.5. sacrifice** _

They drop by the convenience store after practice, the sky already dark. Because it was rather gruelling today but they still managed to play an especially rewarding match, they decide to treat themselves to pork buns.

“Here,” Oikawa says, holding out a brown paper bag to Iwaizumi as they’re taking the familiar route home.

Iwaizumi takes it from him and unwraps it to see that there’s only one lone pork bun inside the bag. Puzzled, he faces Oikawa to ask, “There’s only one?”

“Yeah,” he replies absentmindedly, folding down the top of his own paper bag to reach his snack. “It was the last one left.”

Indeed, Oikawa’s biting into a croquette, which is hardly as satisfying as their typical treat. They usually order two pork buns each, but Iwaizumi supposes with how late practice ended today, the supply of steaming buns dwindled to merely one.

He glances at Oikawa and notices that he seems to be enjoying his croquette surprisingly.

Iwaizumi takes out the pork bun, supposedly his, and can’t help but wonder if this is another act of love. Nowadays, he reads Oikawa’s behaviour with another lens, figuring out if he’s still trying to prove something that Iwaizumi already knows. This one is simple, but not all acts of love are grand gestures right? Even if it’s Oikawa.

The act of giving up something for the sake of another—Iwaizumi ponders over the idea.

Curious for the truth, he wonders aloud, “What’s this one supposed to be? Sacrifice?”

For a definite moment, Oikawa stares at him, perplexed. The question hangs in the air between them, until it dawns on the setter—cinnamon eyes widening a fraction—what Iwaizumi is referring to.

“No, I just wanted you to have it,” he says, simple and honest.

Iwaizumi’s response doesn’t make its way out of his throat but he eventually chokes out, “Oh.”

His cheeks burn and Oikawa graciously refrains from teasing him about it. After all, he’s already exceptionally pleased over the fact that Iwa-chan assumed this was part of his 12-week show of love when it’s not deliberate at all. All of a sudden, the croquette tastes markedly better.

Iwaizumi takes a generous bite out of his pork bun, a little embarrassed. It might not be part of their 12-week arrangement, but it’s an act of love nonetheless. And understanding that Oikawa expresses the little ways he loves him in the little moments of their mundane days makes his heart squeeze painfully.

“Let’s share,” Iwaizumi says out of the blue. “I’ll give you half of this if you give me half of yours.”

It’s not an equivalent exchange. The both of them know that pork buns reign supreme but Oikawa reckons that sacrifice is such as this. It fills his heart with indescribable mirth.

“Okay,” he agrees, hiding a smile.

Later, they make an exchange, half of the croquette for half of the pork bun.

* * *

_**—9. attention** _

“This week, I’m going to shower you with so much attention!” Oikawa proclaims one fine morning and Iwaizumi is torn between finding his doggedness exhausting or commendable.

“Please don’t,” he says flatly and the lack of effort dissuades Oikawa none at all.

“Don’t worry,” the setter assures, shrewd maple eyes landing on the needlessly weary expression Iwaizumi has. “You won’t even notice it.”

Despite that, he braces himself for an entire week of clingy-Oikawa, who he assumes will be all over him with his affection as if he’s not already making Iwaizumi want to pull out his hair on a daily basis.

But that’s where Oikawa proves to him two things: one – that he’s wrong, foolishly so, and two – that love, with all its shades of longing, is not always loud.

Like the next morning for instance. Oikawa stops by the Iwaizumi residence to wait for his friend, an uncommon occasion since he takes a longer time getting ready for the day. But Iwaizumi wasted a good part of the morning rifling through his belongings for his Lit assignment, only to find it wedged in the pages of his History textbook.

By the time he’s scarfed down breakfast and is out of the house, Oikawa’s leaning against the gate, tapping away at his phone.

“Let’s go.”

“Hang on,” Oikawa cuts in and doesn’t budge from the gate. Iwaizumi swivels to meet his eyes inquisitively, wondering what the hold up’s for. Glancing at his chest, Oikawa asks as-a-matter-of-factly, “Where’s your vest?”

Iwaizumi frowns, “Think I left it in my room. I can do without it.”

He makes a move to go, believing that it’s no big deal. He goes about without his vest most of the time anyway but Oikawa stays in his spot and points out, “Doesn’t your class have a new Lit teacher? Morita-sensei? And I seem to recall that she likes picking on you for not adhering to the full dress code.”

A ruminative silence ensues as Iwaizumi runs it over in his mind, concludes that Oikawa has a valid point, decides he does not want to be subjected to such useless discipline and promptly turns on his heels to head back into his house with an exasperated exhale. He reappears a couple minutes later donning the troublesome vest and Oikawa happily falls into step beside him.

When Lit period rolls along, Morita-sensei’s vision zeroes in on Iwaizumi and he inadvertently tenses up. She gives him a once-over before deeming his appearance acceptable and nods in approval, searching for another student to set her unreasonably high standards against. Iwaizumi breathes a sigh of relief, realizing that Oikawa helped him to avoid an uncalled-for nuisance. How did he even remember he got a new Lit teacher anyway?

Later in the week, when Iwaizumi’s parents are watching TV and he catches a glimpse of the trailer for a movie he’s been wanting to see, he texts Oikawa about it.

‘Let’s watch this,’ his message says and Oikawa’s reply follows quickly.

It reads, ‘I already bought tickets,’ with a kaomoji that has its eyes closed, looking pleased.

Iwaizumi quirks an eyebrow, pushing away his studies to respond, ‘That’s fast.’

‘You mentioned last week that you wanted to see it.’

Huh. He supposes he did. It’s strange to think that Oikawa had been observant enough to not only remember what he said as a passing remark but also take the initiative to buy the movie tickets in advance. He’s not a thoughtless guy by any means, quite the opposite in fact, but Iwaizumi had not expected him to pay special heed to something as ordinary as this.

Two streets down, Oikawa types out another message, ‘Wouldn’t you be lucky if you dated me? ;)’ but decides against it and watches the cursor wipe the words clean.

During practice on Sunday, Iwaizumi feels like he’s caught something.

The onset of a common cold probably. It starts with a little itch in his throat that he ignores during practice, even as a prickly heat crawls up his neck and his muscles begin to feel heavier than they normally do. Yet, he braves it; practice is finishing soon, he’ll rest properly when he’s home.

Even if that’s what his mind supplies, his body finds itself unable to keep up. And even if he ignores it, Oikawa doesn’t.

His form is clearly not on point and Oikawa, with a keen sense for his partner, predictably notices. It’s not a case of a bad day. There’s a distinct flush on Iwaizumi’s face and Oikawa notices that he’s been clearing his throat uncomfortably sometimes. He keeps an eye on him.

The toss that he sends his way is near flawless but when Iwaizumi jumps to connect his palm with the ball, he doesn’t reach his usual height and it’s the top of his fingers that has the ball hitting the other side of the court with less power.

Iwaizumi scowls a bit, aware that it wasn’t his best shot and makes his way to the back of the line for the next player to spike. Oikawa’s voice stops him, “Maybe you should take a break Iwa-chan.”

“That was off I know. I’ll get the next one.”

“No you won’t. Your form is off today.”

That elicits a frown from the ace. “Your tosses are too high,” he argues.

“They’re the same as always,” Oikawa maintains, knowing he has to be firm if he wants Iwaizumi to take it easy. “You’re not jumping high enough.”

A staring contest proceeds between the captain and his vice, until the latter admits that there’s no merit in pushing himself if he’s under the weather.

“I’ll refill the water bottles,” he concedes, stalking away.

Much to his displeasure, the itch in his throat worsens by the time he’s back home and he grimaces at the irony when he receives a text from Oikawa telling him to ‘drink lots of water and take care Iwa-chan! Don’t fall sick now~’

He chooses to reply later, favouring a nap for now. As he drifts off into a slumber, the Sunday afternoon sunlight streaming into his window, he hazily tries to recall what Oikawa has done for this week’s act of love. Wasn’t it supposed to be attention?

As he replays the week’s events, Iwaizumi arrives at a halting conclusion. Oikawa did pay attention to him, just not with his constant presence or colourful words or excessive deeds, but through thoughtful gestures and quiet sentiments. It was all so subtle, so ordinary, like he’s been doing it all this while, an immutable part of his days.

Oikawa was right. He hadn’t noticed a thing. It makes him wonder what else he’s missed.

* * *

_**—10. service** _

As expected, Iwaizumi falls ill and misses school on Monday.

He doesn’t get sick easily but when he does, it’s awful. He spends all day drifting in and out of sleep, only waking up to eat some porridge his mother makes and take his medicine. The fever persists and his mother applies cooling patch after cooling patch over his forehead. His throat hurts and he barely talks, so he’s thankful that he can avoid the discomfort with napping.

The next time he opens his eyes, it’s because he feels another presence in his room and through bleary vision, notices the familiar figure of Oikawa closing the door carefully.

“Oikawa?” he croaks out, voice rough with sleep and soreness.

“Hey,” Oikawa greets softly, approaching the bed where Iwaizumi tries to sit up. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he replies, rubbing his eyes. It’s not a lie, all the rest has been good for his body. He still feels lethargic and achy but at least it’s not as bad as this morning. A little more sleep would be appreciated though. “What’re doing here?”

Dropping his bag on the floor, Oikawa sits on the side of the bed and reaches for the flask of water on the nightstand.

“I brought you your notes,” he says, handing Iwaizumi a refilled glass of water.

He takes a sip before answering, “Thanks,” not offering anything more because he’s tired. He wishes he could. Oikawa’s not in his class, so he must have specially asked one of his classmates for the materials.

Who did he ask? His seatmate on his right? The class rep? They must have thought it was weird but then again, the two of them have a reputation of being each other’s keeper. And Oikawa likes him after all.

He’s really tired.

“Go back to sleep,” Oikawa suggests, not needing to read his mind because it’s plain on his face.

“What about you?”

“Don’t mind me. I can do my homework or something. You just rest.”

Iwaizumi grunts in reply, scooting down his bed and snuggling into his pillow. Another nap sounds inviting, maybe just for a while, so he can make sure Oikawa doesn’t thrash his room or the like.

He doesn’t actually think he would and it was only his knee-jerk reaction talking. And it turns out that Oikawa does the exact opposite.

When Iwaizumi falls unconscious again, his even breathing filling the room, Oikawa sets to work. He tidies Iwaizumi’s room with as much quietness as he can manage, firstly getting rid of the tissues strewn across his nightstand, then folding a few articles of clothing that he’s left on his chair and organizing the books and papers on his desk.

After that, he takes a rag from downstairs and starts cleaning off the dust from his furniture, turning to check on Iwaizumi every so often. Sometimes, there are creases in his eyebrows when he sleeps but today, even with the cooling patch covering his forehead, he looks peaceful.

A sense of satisfaction settles when he finishes and he believes that Iwa-chan would appreciate a cleaned room once he wakes. He can’t help him recover but there are still things he can do for him and Oikawa does them with a tender heart.

With the chores done, he stays close to Iwaizumi by parking himself at his bedside and kills time with going through his Chemistry notes. He’s about to be bored to sleep until he hears Iwaizumi stirring behind him, so he puts away his notes and sits up on the bed.

Iwaizumi stretches out his muscles, his wrinkled shirt riding up his torso, and blinks at Oikawa drowsily.

“You’re still here?” he wonders and reaches for some water.

“Of course,” Oikawa pouts, mildly offended that Iwaizumi would think he’d leave. “You should be more grateful you know. I helped to clean your room. Don’t you think it feels more refreshing now?”

Surveying his room, Iwaizumi notices that it is indeed tidier. He supposes waking up to an organized room does make a difference and that a word of thanks is due but it’s odd to keep thanking Oikawa so instead he says, “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t bicker with that but he commits the mistake of looking Oikawa in the eyes, genuine and captivating against the after-school sun. He has to look away.

“You should go home.”

“I can stay. I can take care of you,” Oikawa says, moving closer to extend a hand towards Iwaizumi, who’s too muddled to react. That’s what people who love each other do right? Take care of the other when they’re down? Oikawa’s fingers graze his forehead as he peels the cooling patch off and sets it aside.

Iwaizumi merely watches wordlessly when Oikawa brings up a hand to brush at his hair and presses the back of it against his forehead, cool against his heated skin. The touch is too tender and daylight casts a lovely hue on his face, gossamer-thin and aglow, and he is so beautiful—too beautiful—Iwaizumi cannot bear it.

“It’s still a bit hot,” Oikawa points out, oblivious. “Do you want another cooling patch? I can go get one. Oh, is it time for your medicine? I’ll—”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi stops him. He closes his fingers around his wrist and pulls him away, a quiet rejection. “Maybe you should stop.”

Oikawa stills, not quite understanding.

“Iwa-chan?”

He releases a sigh and lets go of his wrist, “Look. I get it. You like me. But you’re going to grow out of it and you’re going to look back one day and be glad you didn’t hang on to it.”

“You’re wrong,” Oikawa insists, frowning. He tries to fight it off, but the rueful certainty Iwaizumi’s words come with winds wispy tendrils around his ankles. “This isn’t some high-school crush. I’m serious about this.”

This conversation reminds him of the one after his confession, where Iwaizumi was under the impression that he knew enough to speak for Oikawa. In reality, he couldn’t be further from the truth. But hearing this again disheartens the setter, who wonders dejectedly if everything he’s done matters at all if Iwaizumi won’t love him back.

Iwaizumi soldiers on, does not allow himself to waver because he knows he needs to be firm for Oikawa to understand, even if it carves something into his skin.

“You don’t know what you want.”

“And you do?” Oikawa counters, holding on to some sliver of hope, but it is made of silk and slips from desperate fingers.

Another sigh escapes and maybe it’s the delirium from his cold talking, but Iwaizumi says wearily, “We’re 18. What do we know about love?”

Perhaps nothing. Perhaps everything. Oikawa’s shown him all the ways he could love him and it’s barely the end of it.

“Enough to tell if it’s real or not,” Oikawa states, locking eyes with him. “At least for me.”

But even as he holds an unyielding gaze, he’s losing hope and beginning to think that while Iwaizumi acknowledges his feelings, he might not return them. How could an ache run so deep in his heart?

“Oikawa…”

He won’t have it. Iwaizumi’s been spouting nonsense so far, he doesn’t want to hear any more of it. There’s still time, even if his stubbornness is all he has left.

“No Iwa-chan. You keep telling me things you think you know. But have you considered that you could be wrong? I still have time. And you promised you wouldn’t reject me,” he reminds, standing his ground but it borders on a plea. “You promised.”

It ends when he says it ends, but with a love as perennial as his, the road ahead might very well be a lonely one.

* * *

_**—(sometime between 6. and 7.) fear** _

“Don’t you think the captain’s been extra clingy with Iwaizumi recently?” Hanamaki points out in the clubroom before practice one day.

Matsukawa hums thoughtfully before saying, “Rather than clingy, he’s just…more open with his affection?”

“Yeah, that’s more like it,” Hanamaki agrees and the two of them turn to look at Iwaizumi at the same time, inquisitive.

The person in question, who’s been focused on taping his fingers since they’ve been feeling a little sore lately, glances up when the room stays quiet for too long.

“What?” he tries to pretend he hasn’t heard them but they know better.

“Out with it,” Hanamaki demands. “What’s going on with you and Oikawa?”

A beat of hesitation follows and Iwaizumi tries to see if he can fend off the truth, “He’s just being his usual self. You know how he is.”

“No,” Hanamaki maintains, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “We’ve seen his usual self. This is different.”

“It’s like he’s trying to make a point,” Matsukawa adds keenly. “So what goes on?”

The roll of white tape reaches the end of his ring finger and Iwaizumi rips it off to smoothen the end around the digit. The motion, short but routine, offers a bout of clarity, something he’s been sorely lacking ever since that fateful day.

“Oikawa said he’s in love with me.”

He keeps his eyes trained on his fingers, fiddling with them so he doesn’t have to witness his friends’ reactions, which are naturally of varying degrees of surprise. Iwaizumi’s about to regret revealing what happened to them when the silence stretches, but Matsukawa eventually pipes up.

“So you two are together now?”

“No.”

“Wait,” Hanamaki interjects, putting up his hands in apparent confusion because based on what he’s certain of, it simply doesn’t add up. He doesn’t bother hiding his bewilderment when he asks, “Oikawa said he likes you, but you’re not together. Why? You like him back don’t you?”

Iwaizumi stalls, but lets it be said.

“Yeah.”

More than he can forgive himself for.

“So what’s wrong?”

Where would he even begin? They’re guys for one thing and every other problem seems to stem from that undeniable fact. Iwaizumi attempts to put his thoughts into coherent words although they scarcely convey the extent of his worries, “Nothing good’s gonna come out of it. It’s only going to complicate things. He should have known better.”

Hanamaki makes a sound of disbelief, “Oikawa tells you he likes you and all you can say is that he should’ve known better? That’s cold Iwaizumi.”

He scowls irritably. _He knows that._ And he fights down the urge to exclaim how this is tormenting him just as much. Oikawa can be as relentless as a storm and his 12-week mission is already stirring up a riot in Iwaizumi’s heart as it is.

“He should have just let it pass,” he states, thinking it would be for the better.

“Is that what _you_ planned on doing?” Hanamaki presses on and his tone has taken an accusatory edge. “Because we all know that’s not it.”

Times like this he wishes he hadn’t confessed to them that what he feels for his best friend is the furthest thing from being platonic. But when they questioned him that time, he had nowhere to run and if he’s being honest, he was tired of running, especially from himself. He trusted them to keep a secret but perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to let them in on it in the first place.

“We’re different,” he says obstinately. He will carry his feelings to the grave but Oikawa—always meant for something greater—will find something greater.

“Yeah, since he had the guts to tell you he likes you.”

“Makki,” Matsukawa warns, ready to step in if it escalates. He’s not agreeing with Iwaizumi’s choices, but he doesn’t want things to turn ugly if he can help it.

Hanamaki’s words were deliberately acerbic and Iwaizumi’s vein tics. He forces himself not to bite back and instead falls back on the one belief that would make everything irrelevant even if he had the courage to accept Oikawa, “He’ll move on from these feelings.”

“For someone who can’t predict the future, you sure talk like you can.”

Something in Iwaizumi’s chest flares and he clicks his tongue in frustration, eyes cutting up to meet Hanamaki’s in defiance, “Okay fine, let’s say we get together. Maybe at first we’ll have our carefree days and be happy. But when people find out—because they will—and because we can’t always keep it a secret, what then? What happens when he gets disappointing looks thrown his way? What happens when people call him names and tell him what a shame his choices are?”

The possibility is so very real and Iwaizumi would hate if he were the cause of it.

“I can’t put him through that,” he drops his gaze, woeful. He would break Oikawa’s heart now than watch him lose it later on. “Oikawa—he…he deserves better. He should have a bright future, chasing volleyball, winning medals, finding someone who can give him a normal life and a nice family.”

It’s Matsukawa who returns his misplaced conviction with, “What makes you think he can’t have that with you?”

“I’m not a dreamer,” Iwaizumi says although the truth is that he’s just scared—scared that reality destroys more than it creates, scared of being left behind. “I’m doing this for his own good.”

“Or so you think,” Hanamaki retorts but catches Matsukawa’s slight shake of the head, signalling to him that this is not their problem to solve. Sighing, he lets the matter rest but doesn’t forget why it cropped up at first and asks, “So? How does this explain why Oikawa’s been acting the way he has lately?”

Iwaizumi answers tentatively, “When he said he’s in love with me, I told him that he’s not. So he thought I didn’t believe him and told me to give him 12 weeks to prove it. We’re in the middle of it.”

“Sounds like something the captain would do,” Matsukawa remarks.

At his side, Hanamaki releases an exasperated groan. He gives up trying to make sense of Oikawa and Iwaizumi, who each loves the other too much in a way that outsiders cannot understand.

“Just do me a favour?” Hanamaki says, more like a challenge, and meets Iwaizumi’s guarded eyes. “Don’t be a coward.”

* * *

_**—11. time** _

“We’re finally here!” Oikawa declares with arms held open at the entrance of the amusement park. “Are you ready for our date Iwa-chan!”

“It’s not a date,” he mutters, smacking Oikawa’s arm down. They never talked about what happened last week and in fact, they actively avoided it. Oikawa pretends it never happened, behaving like his usual self, and Iwaizumi supposes it’s better this way, although Oikawa’s stellar performance still unsettles him a little. It’s his defence mechanism and Iwaizumi hates that it’s being used against him.

“Yes it is,” Oikawa retorts. “We’re at the amusement park, just the two of us, making time for each other.”

Oikawa’s always thought that one of the most precious things you can give someone is your time, finite and always with an opportunity cost. For someone you like, the seconds and minutes and hours are given with pleasure.

“But whatever you say Iwa-chan,” he says airily. “Come on, I wanna try the thrill rides first!”

Iwaizumi follows and forces himself not to overthink this. It’s about to end anyway. Soon, they’ll be able to return to days of normalcy and put this whole episode behind them. It would not be him, but maybe Oikawa will look back on this one day and laugh sheepishly at the absurdity his naïve high-school self can come up with.

For now, Iwaizumi allows himself to be dragged along by Oikawa’s child-like delight. And if he enjoys the time that passes far too quickly for his liking, he chalks it up to the inherent entertainment that amusement parks bring and not the beaming smiles and messy hair the rides leave Oikawa with.

And because it’s an amusement park, there are couples at every corner, fingers laced and some dressed in matching outfits. Oikawa observes a girl, not much older than him, biting away at an ice-cream sandwich as she swipes at her phone. It gets on the side of her lip and the boy beside her reaches out with a napkin, so she angles her mouth towards him, lets him wipe the ice-cream away absentmindedly, and chooses a filter for her Instagram story.

It’s sickeningly sweet.

Oikawa wants it all.

And he can have it all with anyone he chooses. But then he chooses Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi, who would hold his heart but not his hand. Iwaizumi, who told him to stop.

At one time after they’re separated for a bit, Iwaizumi having been asked by a group of teenagers to help take a ton of pictures for them in various poses, he finds Oikawa chatting away with a couple of strangers, both of them wearing pleasant smiles and cute dimples.

It’s clear that one of them is more interested and the other is there for moral support. She is pretty, not in the same way Oikawa is, but pretty. It looks normal, like a proper picture.

He can’t hear what they’re talking about as he walks up to them, but Iwaizumi notices the cordial expression on Oikawa’s face and the easy, charming smile. With a face like that and a dress sense from fashion magazines, it’s not surprising that he would be approached by strangers in public.

Oikawa has that about him—beauty that draws people in, appeal that keeps them there.

For a fleeting second, Iwaizumi thinks,

_‘He looks good like this. Not next to me.’_

Just then, Oikawa catches sight of him and waves him over, grinning at the two girls to ask amiably, “Since you’re here, would you help us take a picture?”

He pushes his phone into her hands without waiting for an agreement and tugs on Iwaizumi’s wrist, ignoring his sounds of protest.

“Who wants to take a picture with you Shittykawa!” he fights back but Oikawa’s grip on him doesn’t lessen. In fact, when he positions them in front of the giant ferris wheel in the background, he hooks his arm around Iwaizumi’s elbow, keeping him in place.

Iwaizumi’s immediate reaction is to pull away, but Oikawa turns to him and says, much too gently, “Come on Iwa-chan, just one. I promise.”

It might not be the date of his dreams, but he tried, and maybe that in itself is worth remembering.

Oikawa tilts his head towards Iwaizumi’s, throws up his trademark peace sign and curls his arm warmly around the crook of Iwaizumi’s elbow.

After their picture is taken and the girl returns Oikawa’s phone to him, sporting a blush, the setter thanks her and proceeds to make fun of Iwaizumi’s odd expression. As he brainstorms for a witty caption for Instagram, Iwaizumi watches the girls scurry away, whispering to each other and for a reason he needs no reminder, makes his stomach churn.

They stay for the fireworks at Oikawa’s insistence and Iwaizumi must admit that they’re quite spectacular. Not as impressive as the ones they set off during Tanabata, but interesting enough to hold his attention with their striking colours and explosive patterns.

Oikawa on the other hand, is familiar with beauty, but not with the colours dusting Iwaizumi’s cheeks, or the gentle slope of his nose against the dark. He is beautiful, unassumingly so, and he does not know it. He is all of him, half of him, none of him, and he does not know it.

Above the web of colours and deafening noise, Oikawa feels a pull. It’s a quiet influence that’s always been there, drawing him towards Iwaizumi and yearning for his brusqueness and his warmth. He wants there to be more—for skin to brush and lips to touch.

Iwaizumi faces him then, finding the lack of audible amazement odd and quirks a brow when he’s met with umber eyes, a sea of endearment in them.

“What?” he asks, self-conscious.

_‘I want to kiss you,’_

Oikawa longs to say. But there are things you cannot have. And there are things you cannot say. And then there are both.

So he settles with admitting a harmless truth, already too much in him not to let this one out.

“Iwa-chan is…really beautiful.”

The confession—uttered with infinite fondness—makes Iwaizumi tense, words escaping him. Oikawa is certain that the rosiness in his cheeks has nothing to do with the reds in the sky. He smiles, not needing an answer, but it’s a little bit sad and Iwaizumi’s chest tightens with an ache he cannot quite comprehend.

_‘Stop,’_ his heart pleads. _‘Don’t look at me like that—don’t be everything I wish for—and expect me not to want it.’_

He looks away, they both do, too much to feel but nothing to say.

* * *

_**—12. release** _

It’s the same street, the same row of houses, the same walk home.

But the moonlight paints the scene in a dreary indigo and dim streetlamps cast fuzzy pools of light against the asphalt. The walk is quiet, with only their footsteps padding into the night. Silences like this are supposed to be comfortable, but Oikawa is afflicted by the words he’s about to say.

He hates to say it, but he’s fighting a losing battle because what kind of victory would it be if all Iwaizumi will do is acknowledge his feelings but not return them?

It’s the end of the 12 weeks and everything’s still the same. Iwa-chan talks to him the same, looks at him the same, and Oikawa has done his damndest to show Iwaizumi that here—these are the ways I love you, and these are not all the ways I can—but nothing’s changed.

And Oikawa recognizes a sign of defeat when he sees one. He just never expected it to come in the form of a broken heart.

He can force one and a half loads of clothes into the wash if he tries hard enough. He can force himself to run that extra kilometre without stopping. But he cannot force this. It’s just his luck that he happens to want this most desperately.

Slowing his steps to a stop at the corner where they usually part, Oikawa fills the silence with a shaky voice, “Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi turns at the sound of his name, sees Oikawa standing a few steps behind, uncertainty existing in the slight crease of his eyebrows, and stiffens.

“I’ve thought of what to do for the final week,” he states with feigned confidence but the barest tremor in his words gives him away.

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi asks hesitantly.

Throughout the entire week, Oikawa hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary and he acting like this now sets Iwaizumi on edge. He looks resigned, harrowed, and it’s something he’s not seen on Oikawa before. Then again, he’s never broken his heart before.

And because Oikawa seeks a love that is fierce but not fatal, for his final act of love, he tells Iwaizumi that he will stop.

The other boy thinks he’s misheard.

“…What?”

“I said I’ll stop,” Oikawa says again, softer this time. He can stop expressing his blatant love and keep his feelings to himself, but to actually stop loving him? He doesn’t think he can manage that. And that’s where the problem lies—to love and love, with nowhere to go.

Oikawa pushes all of these down and lifts his eyes to meet Iwaizumi’s, chest puffing like it isn’t obvious he’s pretending to be okay. He tries to fight off a tide of sorrow, but his smile is rueful as he adds, head tilted, “Because people say that if you truly love someone, you’ll let them go right?”

He wants to laugh at the banality of it but it’s lodged in his throat, with everything he wishes he could say as lovers.

“But…thank you,” he adds, smile truer now but no less sad. “For putting up with this 12-week thing…and with me.”

It sounds like an ending. Oikawa doesn’t want it to be.

“I really love you,” he lets out, and wonders how something that feels so right can hurt this much. “Even if you don’t love me back, believe this okay?”

Iwaizumi’s fingers twitch at his side but that’s all he allows himself to do. He doesn’t reach out to take Oikawa’s shaky hands, or close the distance between them, even if every muscle in his body is screaming for him to. Oikawa looks defeated and it takes out too much from him to look at him and know that he made it this way.

But he tells himself, ‘It won’t last. This is for the better,’ a false sense of comfort that leaves him empty.

“Yeah. Okay,” Iwaizumi says, guilty.

But Oikawa does not want his pity. He wants his love.

And so this is how it feels. To love someone who does not love you back. And the thing about falling from such a height is that the impact doesn’t kill you. It maims you, breaks you, and leaves you to pick up the remnants of something that’s not meant to be broken.

Oikawa picks up the fragile pieces the rest of the way home.

* * *

_**+1 (13.) resolve** _

The cloud of darkness follows Iwaizumi to the next day. He tries to do his homework but he can’t concentrate. He talks to his mother but his replies are listless. He distracts himself with a movie but even that doesn’t stop his mind from wandering to a certain boy, his helpless hazel eyes haunting him.

Iwaizumi’s thankful that it’s at least a Saturday. By the end of the day, he’s finished none of his homework and done none of his chores. He even checks his phone for messages, but wonders what he could possibly be hoping for. He denied Oikawa of something he clearly wanted and in the process, did the same to himself too.

And it’s so _dumb_. From the beginning, the whole thing had been so dumb.

Because from the beginning, he’d already known that Oikawa is in love with him.

How could he not, when his touches are too deliberate to be innocent, when he hides true intentions behind cryptic words thinking he’s clever but Iwaizumi’s learned to read him with all the words he doesn’t say, when he catches him looking and his eyes are filled with love.

But that has no place in this world, where love exists in narrow definitions and Iwaizumi does not dare to love boldly if not in a different life. He’s made to think that a future where they give up everything to wake up next to each other in the mornings would be rife with rejection and disappointment, isolation and shame.

So he had hoped that Oikawa would let it pass, treat it like an infatuation and grow out of it. And he’s tried—god he’s tried—but no matter how much he tells himself it’s familiarity and not love, or how many times he ignores the urge to do more, say more, want more, or how many times he stills his traitorous heart, it clings to him like vines and runs so deep until it brands his bones. So he left it to Oikawa to do the honours.

It would have been so easy if it were just him and his feelings.

But then Oikawa confessed and fucked everything up.

A tiny part of Iwaizumi wished that somewhere along the 12 weeks, Oikawa would realize how ridiculous this all was and give up. And he did—just not on his feelings.

Iwaizumi should have been glad that Oikawa said he’ll stop and that they can return to how they were like before, whatever nebulous form that took. It’s what he wanted, isn’t it? But a bigger, deeper part of him is miserable because he’s come to understand that while he can deny his truest desires to the rest of the world, he can’t deny it to himself.

The thing is, he wants this.

He wants to be able to say he loves Oikawa too, and feel his fingers between his, and do what lovers do. He wants it all, even if it means it’ll be difficult.

He’s certain they will have to face vicious remarks about their inclinations and make explanations they shouldn’t even need to. He’s certain they will have to fight for their place in this world.

Is he afraid? Yes.

Would he do it? In a heartbeat.

And now Oikawa is telling him that he loves him enough to do the same so what the fuck is the problem?

It’s that he’s been believing in lies instead of his heart, not daring to take the next step and discover what happens when he lets his gaze linger or his touch travel to more intimate places.

And he is tired—of storing love in a heart until it bleeds—cutting it up so that it has _somewhere_ to go.

Iwaizumi is suddenly reminded of Hanamaki’s challenge to him—“don’t be a coward”—and hates the fact that he has to be told this. The term sits ugly in his mind, a mockery of everything he does not want to be.

He wants to be bold—brave-hearted when it comes to Oikawa Tooru.

He wants to love him—in all the ways Oikawa has shown him, and then some more.

-

In the dimness of Oikawa’s room lit only by some random video playing on his screen and the streetlights from outside, he jumps when a series of loud knocks interrupts his thoughts, morose and nothing to do with whatever he’s watching.

Thinking it’s his mother calling him for dinner, Oikawa hardly turns around to say just as the door opens, “I’ll eat later.”

“You better,” a voice that obviously does not belong to his mother answers and Oikawa twists in his seat, eyes widening at the sight of Iwaizumi entering his room.

“Iwa-chan?! What are you doing here?”

The unexpected visitor closes the door behind him, staring down at Oikawa who looks so small hugging his knees at his low desk, damaging his eyes by watching videos in the dark again. Iwaizumi frowns as the setter pauses his video.

“I need to talk to you,” he begins. He made the trip to Oikawa’s house on an impulse, but he would not have been able to carry on with his day if he doesn’t fix his mistake. Perhaps he may have already missed his chance, but Oikawa deserves the truth at least.

Oikawa shifts on his cushion seat uncomfortably, averting his eyes to murmur, “You should have texted or something.”

“Would you have let me come if I did?” Iwaizumi says without missing a beat and Oikawa keeps silent. “Thought so.”

Iwaizumi’s still standing by the door awkwardly and he’s not sure how to continue, but he supposes an apology is due. He wets his lips and says, “I’m sorry—”

“No. Stop,” Oikawa cuts him off, but it’s out of self-preservation rather than blame. “If you’re just going to apologize, I don’t want it. And honestly, you’re not exactly the first person I want to see right now.”

“I know. I know,” Iwaizumi fumbles. His legs take him closer to Oikawa, dropping to his level to sit cross-legged before him. “Just hear me out.” Oikawa complies and waits patiently for Iwaizumi to work past his inhibitions and finally say after an exhale, “When I found out that you liked me and I mean when I _really_ knew that you liked me as more than a friend…I was—…happy.”

Oikawa’s breath hitches and his mind starts going into overdrive at the implications behind his words. Does this mean that Iwa-chan likes him back and all his worrying and wallowing was redundant? And if that’s true, why did he tell him to stop? Oikawa desperately wants answers to the questions that cloud his mind.

“Then why…?”

“Because I was also scared,” Iwaizumi confesses shamefully, lashes lowered. “You know what it means. We won’t be able to hold hands or tell people that we’re together and if we do, people will look at us funny.”

Brown eyes soften at Iwaizumi’s unsettled expression and Oikawa points out unquestionably, “People are going to look at us funny if we so much as have a bad hair day.”

“Oikawa—”

“I know what you mean,” he interjects and manages to fit patience in those few words. “And I’m not saying it isn’t valid. But there are greater things to be scared of don’t you think?” Oikawa holds his chin in his fingers pensively, throwing out examples to prove his point, “Like what if one day I choke on a takoyaki and die? Or I can’t play volleyball anymore? Or I find out that someone I love is really sick?”

Iwaizumi furrows his brows, wondering how you can be selective with your fears. He doesn’t move away when Oikawa scoots nearer to him until their knees are almost touching.

“I’m scared too,” he reveals, exchanging Iwaizumi’s truth with one of his own. “But every time I was scared you were there with me—when I was lost in the woods or pushed myself too hard or thought I misplaced the keys to the gym.”

No matter what it is, nothing seems as daunting when he isn’t alone. Oikawa wants this to be mutual, not so that they won’t be afraid, because fear is inevitable, but so that they won’t fear alone. With gentle insistence, he seeks, “I was hoping that you’d be together with me for this one too.”

Iwaizumi supposes this is how you fight fear, not with the expectation of victory—that comes later, if it comes at all—but with a fierce resolve that at least makes fear avert its eyes.

Choosing this comes with a cost and Iwaizumi needs Oikawa to understand this and show him that tenacity, when branded by Oikawa Tooru, is as fearsome as he remembers.

“I don’t want to take a normal life away from you,” he says in quiet suspense.

“I don’t want to be normal. I want to be yours.”

And how could Iwaizumi expect anything less, when Oikawa is an antithesis of moderation. Iwaizumi also, should realize that there is nothing ordinary in the way he loves (simple yes, but ordinary?—no, he feels far too much for it to be ordinary). And it is about time he speaks the unspoken.

“I want to be yours too.”

“So why don’t we?”

Oikawa’s eyes are the colour of certitude and there’s no longer any particular reason why Iwaizumi would want to say no. The sky is blue. The earth is round. He is in love with Oikawa Tooru. So why don’t they?

“Okay,” he exhales. “Yeah—okay.”

No word of courage has sounded as delightful as this. Oikawa smiles, heart warm and full for the boy before him—Iwaizumi, who would face his fears. Iwaizumi, who said okay.

As it turns out, the 12 weeks worked like a charm. And maybe it took them one extra step to have their beginning, but perhaps 13 is their lucky number and Oikawa has no qualms about that. He may be a tad bit disgruntled over the unfairness of it though.

“So,” he starts, peering at Iwaizumi. “You’re telling me that I’ve been proving my love to you for the past 12 weeks and the feeling is mutual but you didn’t reciprocate because you were scared?”

Iwaizumi studies a random spot on the floor and mutters, “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Oh Iwa-chan, you are so dumb,” Oikawa teases, his good-natured smile turning into a guilefully altruistic smirk. “But it’s okay. I’ll forgive you. You’ve got all the time to make it up to me after all.”

He’s met with a groan and it draws out a laugh from him, ringing clear in his darkened room that now seems to take on an intimate tone. Oikawa peeks at Iwaizumi, who returns his playfulness with a familiar glare, softened by a twinge of embarrassment. For a moment, Oikawa searches for a way to describe how Iwaizumi makes him feel.

What do you call longing, when you know it’s coming?

“Hey,” he calls out, voice low. When Iwaizumi meets his eyes, he holds his gaze. “I want to hear you say it.”

_‘If not to the rest of the world, then at least to me._

_‘The world can wait, but I cannot.’_

Surprise crosses Iwaizumi’s features for a second and he blinks it away, understanding what Oikawa is asking for. For all the love he’s shown him, Iwaizumi reckons he can offer Oikawa this much for a start. Doesn’t mean he can help the burn in his cheeks.

His voice is almost a whisper when he tells Oikawa something that no longer needs to be quelled, “I’m in love with you too.”

Oikawa takes in his blush, his shyness, his honesty and commits them to memory. One day, he will look back and remember that this is how they started—in the faint light of his room and knees already touching, the space between them holding more than they can bear—just before a kiss.

“I was hoping I could do this if the 12 weeks went well because it’s a typical way to show someone you love them so…” Oikawa trails off, eyes darting to Iwaizumi’s lips. “Can I kiss you?”

Iwaizumi curses the skip in his heartbeat but nods once, “Yeah.”

There were a few things Oikawa expected when he imagined their first kiss. He expected it to be warm and a little bit wet, and it is. Iwaizumi peeks out his tongue to lick his lips before leaning in, and after all the stolen glances and vivid curiosity, Oikawa feels them against his own.

Iwaizumi’s lips feel as soft as they look, and the first press is tentative, exploratory as they cross lines in nervous anticipation. The way he kisses is so achingly gentle that Oikawa hesitates to deepen it. So it exists as a tease, more than a graze but less than a pressure.

Oikawa thought it would be heart-stopping, with his dreams taking form, but it is not. There are no stars behind his eyes or rush in his veins or shiver down his spine. It is just Iwa-chan and the pinkness of his lips, seamed to his own. It is just the steady thrum beneath his skin, of knowing that they were always meant to touch this way.

He pulls away slowly, so that he feels the giddy exhale that Iwaizumi releases against his parted lips. Jade eyes flutter open to meet cinnamon ones, and from the quiet amazement written on his features, Oikawa knows Iwaizumi is wondering how he was almost foolish enough to give this up. The satisfaction it brings, and the sureness that this is the least of what’s to come, curve Oikawa’s lips into a smirk.

“Still think normal is good?”

“Fuck that,” Iwaizumi rasps and takes his lips again.

* * *

_bonus_

_**—14. touch** _

There are more things their first is not than it is.

It is not quiet. Iwaizumi’s hand misses the edge of the bed when he’s scooting back and he falls to the floor with an unceremonious thud. Oikawa’s burst of laughter follows right after, subsiding into a chuckle as he helps a scowling Iwaizumi off the bedroom floor.

They talk. They ask questions—how should we…? Like this? Is this okay? As uncertainty and anticipation exist in vowels and consonants spoken against each other’s lips and skin, they guide—in whispers, in sighs, and the occasional yelp when something doesn’t feel quite right.

It is not graceful. They don’t know what they’re doing half the time, just stumbling their way through it all, getting caught by surprise and making accidental discoveries. Sometimes the touches hurt more than they please and awkward apologies are uttered before they find comfort in the realization that this doesn’t have to be artful, just shared. Besides, art can be experimental, it can be aimless, it can be messy.

It is not steeped in passion. There are no lustful gazes or exaggerated moans. There is still too much unexplored terrain and they have only begun drawing the map. Instead, there is nervous trembling across bare skin and patience as they wait for the other to catch their breath, or recover from the rawness of everything.

They have yet to take without inhibition or be overwhelmed with mindless want that leaves evidence of intensity and fierceness on unmarred canvasses. Perhaps next time.

It didn’t take them long to get here. For them after all, an inevitable act of love is to make it. And it didn’t matter that it wasn’t quiet or graceful or passionate. It is theirs, created clumsily and shared with all the things love could possibly make you feel.


End file.
